


Cigarette Love

by midnightdiddle (gooseberry)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Cigarettes, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt, M/M, Terminal Illnesses, Unhealthy Coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/pseuds/midnightdiddle
Summary: "My bird," Hibari says suddenly, and Hayato's caught off-guard like always, because Hibari's like a rabid dog. Look, don't touch, and watch for the teeth. "It died a few months ago.""Yeah?" Hayato asks, and Hibari's turning, face close to Hayato's, his breath moving Hayato's hair."You can't," Hibari says, "find another bird that sings the same. It's hard, to replace the favorites."--Shameless lung cancer fic in which Hayato's lungs are giving up the ghost at the ripe old age of twenty-three. It's basically a ton of emotional hurt, and everyone being unable to cope. Also, like, Hayato's relationships with everyone.





	Cigarette Love

Takeshi's waiting for him outside the building, leaning against the sidewalk guardrail. Hayato takes a breath as the doors slide shut behind him, then taps out a cigarette, palming his lighter. Takeshi frowns and Hayate shoves the pack back into his back pocket, slouching. 

"What'd they say?" Takeshi asks, and Hayato follows him down the street, lighting his cigarette with a careless flick.

"Not much." There's a pang in his chest, real or imagined, he doesn't know, and he flicks the lighter again, just to watch the flame blow out. 

"Will you tell Tsuna?" Takeshi asks, and Hayate shoves the lighter in his pocket, too.

"Not much to tell him," he says, and he takes Takeshi out drinking. The beer's bitter, and the cigarette smoke in the bar clouds the air. Hayato breathes it in, and imagines that death tastes sweet. 

The Tenth's not as naive as he used to be, and he figures that something's wrong in a couple days. He hounds Hayato, well-meaning eyes and worried mouth, and Hayato smokes cigarette after cigarette, sitting on the porch. 

"Hayato," the Tenth says, and Hayato's out of cigarettes. He pats his pockets, wonders if he has enough change to go to a vending machine.

"Hayato," the Tenth says, sharper, and Hayato swallows, feels something in his throat and chest. He thinks it might be regret. 

"Please--"

He's not sure who says it, but he bows and runs, because he's always been good at running away, from Shamal and Bianchi, Italy and Japan. When he reaches the vending machine, he's out of breath, and the cigarettes taste sour in his mouth. 

"Stop," Takeshi says one night, pulling a cigarette from Hayato's mouth. Hayato sighs, falls back onto the porch.

"I can't," he says, stretching out his legs. He feels Takeshi sit next to him, close enough to bump him, and sighs again.

"You've lost weight," Takeshi says mildly, and his fingers are light on Hayato's skin. Hayato closes his eyes, turns away. 

"Not hungry. Get me a cigarette."

"Tsuna--"

Hayato grabs Takeshi, pulls him close enough to slam a hand over Takeshi's mouth. Takeshi's eyes are narrowed, but his lips are still behind Hayato's hand, and it's quiet for a moment. 

"Come drinking with me," Hayato says after a moment, pulling his hand away. He feels fever-bright, breathless with excitement and life, and he wants to burn. "We can find girls to fuck, someone to fight." 

"Hayato," Takeshi says, and Hayato kisses him, hard, and wonders if Takeshi can taste cigarette smoke and blood.

"Come with me," he says again, and Takeshi's eyes are cold.

He coughs up blood in the morning, bright red and sticky. The Tenth's face is pale, and his hands are shaking, and Hayato wants a cigarette, needs a cigarette, because he can feel his life shaking away. 

"Hayato," the Tenth says, "you need--"

"Nothing." Hayato presses the back of his hand to his mouth, curls the stained tissues in close to his chest.

"Please," the Tenth says. Hayato can feel himself shake all the more, because he can't say no, can never say no. 

"I don't want to know," he wants to say, but the words are stuck, and they taste like iron on his tongue.

"They said," he says days later, sitting on Shamal's table, "a few months."

Shamal is moving around the room, dark head bowed against the white coat, and Hayato watches him, leaning back on his hands. He breathes, coughs, then taps at the table with his fingertips. 

"Why are you here, then?" Shamal finally asks, still turned away. Hayato scratches at the table, then taps again, looking stubbornly across the room.

"No reason."

"I can't," Shamal says, "do anything." 

"I didn't--" Hayato begins, but Shamal's arms are around him, and Hayato leans forward, lets his forehead fall against Shamal's shoulder. "I don't--"

"I can't," Shamal says again, "do anything." 

"Fix me--"

"I _can't_ \--"

Hibari views Hayato with the same thoughtless disdain he views the rest of the world, and Hayato almost feels happy. He stands in front of Hibari, wonders what he can say to make Hibari hit him, and wonders if he's gone crazy. 

"Hey," he says, voice rough. Hibari looks at him, a mixture of rage and boredom, and Hayato bites back a sharp smile.

"You're in my way," Hibari says, pushing past, and Hayato follows along in his wake, the feeling of pressure twisting him inside out, like he's still alive, and the thought that he's alive-- 

"Hey," Hayato dogs again, death sentence and all, and he doesn't want to think he's desperate, because he hates desperate people, but he might be desperate, because all around, everyone's desperate, and he _can't_ do this, can't be strong when the Tenth looks at him like _that_ , and when Takeshi talks like _this_ , and Shamal weeps like he's lost another son.

"My bird," Hibari says suddenly, and Hayato's caught off-guard like always, because Hibari's like a rabid dog. Look, don't touch, and watch for the teeth. "It died a few months ago." 

"Yeah?" Hayato asks, and Hibari's turning, face close to Hayato's, his breath moving Hayato's hair.

"You can't," Hibari says, "find another bird that sings the same. It's hard, to replace the favorites." 

"Yeah?" Hayato asks again, and that night he sinks onto the Tenth's floor.

"You'll miss me?" he asks, feeling like a child, and wondering if he's always been a child, only twenty-three and still so stupid. 

The Tenth is tight-lipped, eyes shut just as tight, and Hayato wants to reach out and touch him. He pulls out his lighter, flicks it, and wonders if the Tenth's skin is as cold as it looks.

"Will you miss me, Tsuna?" he asks, and the Tenth's eyes open, flicker. Hayato swallows and asks, "Will you?" 

"Yes," the Tenth says, and Hayato watches him bow to the floor, shaking. He wants to reach out, touch the Tenth, and feel him shake. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and he's sorry for so many things. "I'm sorry," he says again, and he bows down, and kisses Tsuna. 

Italy is far drier than Japan, and Hayato feels his throat tighten, and a pain in his chest that stabs a little deeper. He takes a breath, holds it until the pain is throbbing, and knocks at the door. There are footsteps on the other side of the apartment door, slow then quick, and Hayato takes another gasping breath, biting his lip against the pain. 

When the door opens, and Bianchi looks at him through thick glasses, Hayato feels himself let go.

"Hayato," Bianchi says, and her arms are around Hayato, warm and strong. Her eyes are sad, and the eyes of the mother that was never Hayato's. Hayato feels something in him break, and he thinks this might be the place he's always been looking for. "You're back." 

"I'm home."


End file.
